I always was what I've become
Did I grow up or just get older
but I'm no city-talker
two crows watch from the tower
their dark feathers swallow sunlight against the deep blue sky
they swoop down to the city floor, the dregs of winter still below. A walker, made real in their gaze, crumbles flecks of constancy in the tower shadow...
(Worse than dark a shade)
...and the silent watchers, our souls in their eyes, see nothing. They look on.
They look on, their wings are not stirred by the gale.
they look on, the tempest surrounds them, pale
They look on as we pass through our senses
standing in the street with whiskey coursing through my veins
isn't it good
when the stars shine down on you
waiting for the whipping winds to take me up to the sky
taciturn but alive
start the song anew
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